


Coping Mechanism

by Cerona



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love, of the sad kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerona/pseuds/Cerona
Summary: Mihael is taking Luka's departure hard.Marcin is willing to do whatever it takes to help him through it.
Relationships: Marcin "Jankos" Jankowski/Mihael "Mikyx" Mehle, Mihael "Mikyx" Mehle/Luka "PerkZ" Perković
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42
Collections: DreamServer Secret Santa





	Coping Mechanism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpia_tiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpia_tiger/gifts).



> For my lovely server wife, who deserves my first attempt at pseudo-prawn.
> 
> Merry Christmas, baby.
> 
> (Also I am never doing prawn again)

The first time Mihael slept in Marcin’s bed was on the night Luka left the gaming house for the final time.

The jungler had just finished washing up and slipping into his pajamas when somebody knocked at his door. Nothing about that struck him as off; it was still early by gamer standards, but between the jetlag, saying goodbye to a teammate and good friend of three years, and his own trip home tomorrow, Marcin was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed and let sleep take him. Still, it would be rude to not answer. He would just see what they wanted and then send them off.

The last thing he expected to see on the other side of the door was Mihael, eyes glassy and cheeks soaked in tears.

Before Marcin could so much as ask what was wrong, Mihael stumbled forward and threw his arms around the Pole’s waist, burying his face in his teammate’s chest. Immediately, the support began shaking, violent sobs wracking his body, and Marcin could feel a wetness on his shirt.

“Hey,” Martin tried to coax, rubbing Mihael’s back with one hand while closing the door with the other. He knew the support wouldn’t want the others seeing him like this. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“P-Please,” Mihael heaved between sobs. “I don’t—I don’t want to be alone tonight. N-Not without—” A shiver ran down the support’s spine, as if the mere thought of Luka stung him, and his hold on Marcin tightened.

“Okay,” Marcin breathed, nodding to himself. He was still stunned by the support’s appearance, but a clear picture was beginning to form in his head. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

A sniffle. Marcin could feel Mihael’s head bobbing up and down, never once tearing away from Marcin’s chest. The jungler took that as confirmation. He maneuvered the both of them onto his bed, practically dragging the Slovenian as his legs seemed to have lost all will to move. Morbidly, Marcin wondered if Mihael himself lost it too.

Somehow, he managed to hit the light switch with a bundled sock, leaving them both in the darkness, the only light coming from the moon as it streamed through the curtains. Mihael refused to move, his vice grip almost suffocating Marcin, and he wailed without restraint. The jungler tried his best to comfort his friend, patting him on his back and whispering sweet nothings about how everything was going to be alright and fine, but if anything that made Mihael’s tears flow stronger. In the end, Marcin settled on just holding the support close and tight, fastening him in the face of his own sorrow.

It was no easy thing, holding onto Mihael. His cries were vicious, sending his entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind, and every quaver from the support made Marcin all the more aware of his own heartache at his captain leaving. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes too, but the Pole would not allow them to. He had to be strong tonight, strong for Mihael.

In the end, it took Mihael an hour to finally go to sleep. To be more accurate, for him to pass out when he could no longer shed a tear and could barely move, all of his energy spent on crying. Marcin made sure to stay up until he was certain that his support’s eyes were firmly shut, and some semblance of peace washed over his face. Even then, he stayed up an extra thirty minutes to make sure that Mihael didn’t wake up again. He could have stayed up for longer, but his own exhaustion dragged him to sleep.

He woke up to an empty bed, his arms reaching out for someone that wasn’t even there. Mihael’s side of the bed was still warm, so he must have left not too long ago. The events of last night were still engraved in his mind, like a wound only freshly healed, so he went out to look for his support. Much to his surprise, he found Mihael sitting on the dinner table with Wunder and Rasmus, eating a bowl of cereal as he casually talked with them. The air in the house was heavy following Luka’s departure, but if anything, Mihael looked like he was the least effected by it, talking with the same chill and relaxed tone they had come to associate with him. When Marcin joined them Mihael barely spared him a glance before resuming his conversation. Not a single acknowledgement about what happened last night. Marcin was even beginning to question whether or not it actually happened, or if it was just an extremely vivid dream of his to process his own feelings about Luka leaving (and maybe fulfill his fantasies).

The question continued to plague him even as he departed for Poland. Again, Mihael said and did nothing out of the ordinary as they said their farewells, the support seeing him off with a snarky quip, and Marcin was almost tempted to bring it up after Wunder and Rasmus ducked back into the apartment, leaving the two of them alone on the curb. He didn’t, in the end. If Mihael didn’t want to talk about it right now, then he would respect it. He’d have to be content with watching and worrying from afar this offseason.

* * *

The second time Mihael slept in his bed, it was the first night the team was back together in Berlin.

Marcin was already tucked into his bed with phone in hand, giggling as Oskar shot him another DM. He didn’t even remember how he started chatting with the Fnatic jungler in private over the offseason, just that it was nice to be able to talk to another pro in his mother tongue. He loved Vander-Oskar and all, but Selfmade-Oskar was new and exciting and honestly kind of funny in his own toxic way. When the knock came at his door, he answered it nonchalantly, both eyes and a hand still on his phone.

When no sound came, Marcin looked up and found Mihael standing there awkwardly, eyes downcast and arms wrapped around himself. The memory of that night hit the jungler like a freight train. Whatever poking and prodding he did at the support over the offseason had been fruitless, and perhaps he had fooled himself into thinking that Mihael had found peace on his own. _Don’t get ahead of yourself, maybe he’s here for something else._

He put his phone away, leaving Oskar on read, and softly asked Mihael. “Is something wrong, Miky?”

Mihael would not meet his eyes. “Can I—” he gulped “—Can I sleep here again tonight?”

The mere mention of ‘again’ set Marcin’s heart racing, the confirmation that that night indeed happened lifting the cloud of doubt on his mind that had been there since then. But he didn’t have time for relief. Mihael needed him. Again.

“Sure.” Marcin nodded. “Yeah, just let me—”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence when Mihael crashed into him, tears already flowing. Only a brief thought went out for his shirt, which would no doubt be ruined. The last one was already in the thrash before he even left the apartment. With a bit more experience now, he managed to turn the lights off and get them back to his bed. And just like that, Marcin held onto Mihael. Not too hard, but not too slack either, giving the support just enough room to move around as he wished. Marcin held him like he was a precious, fragile thing, like a vase that was ready to shatter.

Mihael’s sobs weren’t as vicious as they had been the last time. Instead it was a long, enduring note. An endless stream of tears that seemed to have no end other than complete exhaustion on the Slovenian’s part. Marcin made sure that his friend was completely asleep before he even allowed himself to close his eyes. He awoke the next morning to an empty bed, but it was worth it to see the support laughing and joking again with their teammates.

They never really talked about it, not even when Mihael came to him again the next night, and then the next night, and then the next night. Comforting his support to sleep became a daily occurrence for Marcin, so much so that Mihael didn’t even knock anymore and just walked in, taking his spot on the bed that the jungler had already prepared and began breaking down. In the morning, Marcin would awake to find an empty spot where Mihael had slept. It was no easy thing, listening to Mihael’s cries every night. Sometimes it got to him too much that Marcin wanted to cry as well, but he didn’t, he never could. He had to be strong for Mihael.

Still, a part of him wondered if the universe was playing a cruel joke on him, forcing him to comfort his crush as he cried over the loss of his ex-boyfriend. To be so close and yet so far. Sometimes, Marcin just wanted to scream and plant a big, sloppy kiss on Mihael’s lips, telling him to forget about Luka and look at the Pole instead, but he never could. He would never do that to Mihael, and he knew for sure the other boy didn't share his feelings. So he was content with this, taking care of the piece of Mihael’s heart the support had deigned to give him with all of his own.

Sometimes, Marcin could feel the worried gazes of his teammates, the whispers they share whenever they thought he couldn’t hear them. They were worried, that much he could tell. He knew they knew about what was happening, and he knew they knew about his crush on Mihael. Anybody with two eyes could know.

(Sometimes, Marcin thought that Mihael knew too.)

To his face they asked him about the bags under his eyes, if he was feeling well or not, if he was getting enough sleep or not. On the surface, they seemed to just be worried about his performance, which had admittedly begun slipping ever since he took to comforting Mihael at night, so much so that he had gotten flack on both Reddit and the analyst desk for it, but he knew them better than that. Marcin hated worrying them, but Mihael needed him right now, and if that costed him just a tiny bity of himself for a little while, he was okay with that.

And, well, they were indeed making progress! Mihael started crying less and less as the nights went on and went to sleep with more ease. They had even begun to talk. Never about Luka, of course, but just about small insignificant things. How their day went, childhood memories, what their favorite foods were. They talked about nothing and everything at the same time. One night, Mihael didn’t even cry. He just barged into Marcin’s room, threw away the jungler’s phone just as he was about to reply to Oskar, and then hopped onto the bed, snuggling up to the pole. For once, Marcin had hope that things were going to turn out just fine.

And then, of course, Luka had to ruin it.

* * *

For Mihael, the world ended at week three of the spring split, after Cloud9 vs TSM ended in a victory for the boys in blue.

They were cheering for Luka, of course. They always did. Even Mihael, who always put on a brave face whenever Luka’s new team played. Marcin knew for a fact that Mihael hated nothing more than seeing Luka in blue and black instead of black and white, but Luka was Luka, so of course the support would cheer him on. On nights like these, the Slovenian would cry his eyes out, and Marcin could only hold him close and silently curse Luka for leaving.

TSM’s nexus had just exploded, and Rasmus was just about to turn the TV off when the camera cut to C9’s celebration. There on screen, clear as day for the entire world to see, Luka tugged Zven down to his height and pressed their lips together.

Rasmus couldn’t turn off the TV fast enough.

But the damage was done. A heavy silence fell over the room, one that gripped Marcin’s throat and strained his breath. He wanted to say something, anything, to comfort Mihael, but he found that he didn’t have the air to do so. None of the others seemed to be able to as well. They could only watch as Mihael stared off into the distance, a blank look on his face, sitting stock still. So still, in fact, that Marcin was almost afraid that Mihael had just died then and there.

And then, all at once, he stood up and ran out of the room.

Immediately, both Martins stood up to go after him, but Marcin blocked their path. “Please,” he begged. “Let me handle this, okay?”

He could see the apprehension on their faces, but he knew that they knew that he was the best one equipped to handle this. Rekkles gave a nod, and Marcin turned to follow Mihael.

He found the support drinking vodka straight from the bottle. _Marcin’s_ vodka.

“Hey!” Marcin called out, snatching the bottle away. “Don’t drink my vodka without asking.”

“Fuck you,” Mihael rebutted, reaching for the vodka again, but the jungler batted his hands away.

“No, if we’re doing this, we’re doing this properly,” Marcin said, putting the bottle away. “You’re not going to make a drunken fool out of yourself in front of the rest of the team.”

“So it’s not okay if I do it, but it’s okay if you do it?”

…It stung, and was a blow well below the belt, but he knew the support wasn’t in his right mind right now. “Come on,” Marcin ordered as he grabbed his coat. “Do you want to get drunk now or what?”

Mihael did indeed want to get drunk. They found themselves in a nearly empty, hole-in-the-wall bar that had patrons with eyes empty enough to not care about a man crying over his ex-boyfriend. A slow jazz played over the speakers, which just brought the whole room down, honestly. He sent a text to the rest of his team to not worry and go to sleep, that he was keeping an eye on Mihael and they would be back before morning.

“I always wanted to come out like that,” Mihael said to his drink, eyes gazing deep into the amber liquid. “Kiss him right on the lips after we win Worlds, let everyone that we were together and proud of it. He never wanted to though, said that it would take focus away from our achievements and skills.” He chuckled darkly. “He clearly changed his mind.”

Marcin watched as Mihael downed his drink in one gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The support banged his glass down with a clink. “Is it Zven? Is he okay with coming out like this because it’s Zven he’s doing it with? Was I just not worth the trouble but Zven is? What does that fucking Dane have that I don't?”

His finger closed around his glass so tightly that Marcin was almost afraid that it would shatter. He wanted to say something, to say anything to comfort Mihael, but he knew that anything he said right now would just make everything worse. Silent comfort formed the foundation of their current arrangement, and Marcin didn’t dare see what would happen if he started pushing boundaries now. Instead, he knocked back a few glasses of his own, letting the alcohol burn his throat and make his head buzz. It was one of those nights, the ones where he could barely hold onto Mihael’s sorrow and his own without it all spilling over. He had too, though. For Mihael. He just needed some liquid assistance tonight.

They returned to the apartment drunk and stumbling, fumbling over their keys. The apartment was dark and deathly silent at this time of night, and it was nothing short of a miracle that they managed to make it to Marcin’s room without making much noise.

After Marcin closed the door behind him and put away his jacket, Mihael shoved him against the wall and pressed their lips together.

Marcin had imagined how their first kiss would go dozens upon dozens of times. A small peck after soft, quiet moment between them, a boisterous, spur-of-the moment kiss on-stage, a cautious but curious kiss when they wake up and Mihael stayed in his bed for once. But Marcin had never imagined it to be like this. Desperate, hungry, the taste of alcohol strong on their lips and their tongues. Mihael was on top of him, a low groan gurgling from his throat, and it felt like everything was too loud, too _real_.

Marcin pushed the support away. “I—Miky, no. You’re drunk, you don’t want this.”

“But I do.” Mihael’s hand snaked its way under the Pole’s shirt, his touch cool on Marcin’s skin. The Slovenian buried his face in the crook of the jungler’s neck and left a trail of butterfly kisses that left the jungler quivering. “I want it. I _need_ it. I need to forget him.”

Mihael lifted his head and gazed into Marcin’s eyes, and the jungler swore he could almost drown in those beautiful brown orbs. “Look me in the eye and say that you don’t want this too.”

And the thing about drunk Marcin was that he rarely, if ever, was able to inhibit his base desires for long, so he lunged forward, locking their lips together and pushing Mihael to his bed. It was a messy, clumsy affair. They barely managed to get their clothes off without choking on them, much less make the proper preparations without making an utter mess of themselves. But they did, somehow, and the tingling in his waist and head once he finally entered Mihael was well worth the effort.

He thrusted. Back and forth. Back and forth. Going slowly so that Mihael wouldn’t get hurt. But when the Slovenian balled Marcin’s sheets in hand and grunted, “Faster! Harder!” between heavy moans, what else could the jungler do but comply?

He rammed into the support, taking pleasure at the little squeaks and noises he made whenever Marcin’s cock dug deep. His balls tensed, the tension reaching a fever pitch, and all he could let out as a warning was a curt, “I’m close!”

“Come inside me,” Mihael panted. “I need it.”

Marcin did just that, a shiver washing over him as he shot his load inside Mihael, and the support all but screamed, “Luka!”

…oh.

He could feel the tears beginning to prickle against his eyelids.

But when Mihael collapsed onto the bed, his back rising and falling as he took in deep breaths with a satisfied smile, he muttered a small “Thank you,” to Marcin, and it was then and there that the jungler knew he could grit his teeth and bear it if it made his love happy. He tucked himself in next to Mihael, watching the Slovenian fall into the most peaceful sleep he had seen in weeks, a small smile on his face.

It only took Marcin an hour of holding his own tears back before he went to sleep as well.


End file.
